


hold me like i'm more than just a friend

by apricae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space - Karen Miller
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Secret Relationship, mentions of trauma, post-Zigoola
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25794379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae
Summary: There are some things Anakin Skywalker did not know about his best friend.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Bail Organa
Comments: 22
Kudos: 159





	hold me like i'm more than just a friend

Obi-Wan comes back from his mysterious, disastrous mission to Wild Space, and a lot of things change very suddenly, and Anakin Skywalker isn’t sure if he likes any of it. 

There are some things he hates. Things like Obi-Wan’s thin wrists and trembling hands and extended medical leave and haunted eyes, things he hates so much it fills him with smoke and tears him up like nuclear fusion in his lungs, things that are red-hot and too painful to talk about. 

And then there’s the Senator. Bail Organa, Prince of Alderaan, unlikely friend of Obi-Wan, and Anakin can’t decide if he hates that or not. He wants to, a little. It’s Organa’s fault Obi-Wan got into that terrible mess in the first place. It’s Organa’s fault, really, those nights where Obi-Wan won’t wake up from his nightmares, only shakes and cries out things Anakin doesn’t want to hear.

He doesn’t want to trust Organa. He _doesn’t_ trust Organa. 

Obi-Wan trusts Organa, somehow. Trusts him a lot, actually. Anakin keeps seeing their exchanged glances, the warmth passing between them, and every time he has to reassess the bond that’s grown between the two men. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever know what happened on that planet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever trust Senator Organa. 

  
  
  


He sees them, together, in the Senate halls. 

Searching for Padmé, finding she’s stuck negotiating for votes on her latest bill, Anakin sulks his way to a seldom-frequented passage with tall carved columns under the high ceiling, marble splitting beams of sunlight coming through the window. 

Then, hushed voices. A conversation he can’t make out, except he knows one of those voices – would know it in his sleep, would know it while dead. Obi-Wan murmurs something, softly, warmly. Anakin halts behind a pillar and holds his breath. 

Laughter. 

Obi-Wan is laughing, and he dares to peek, and–

They’re standing close together. Organa’s arms around Obi-Wan’s waist, their difference in height startling suddenly; Obi-Wan has his hands on Organa’s broad shoulders, one thumb gently stroking the epaulette of his ultramarine coat.

“I should get back to the Temple.” He sounds amused. Anakin can’t quite see his whole face from this angle, and he doesn’t dare move a muscle. 

“Oh, you probably should,” Organa replies, a well of warmth in his tone. “But let me steal you away a little longer before they send you off to the front again.”

“So pushy, Senator.”

Obi-Wan laughs again, and it isn’t flirtation in his voice, it’s – it’s fondness. It’s _want_ , Anakin realises, struck breathless with his back pressed to intricately carved marble. It’s yearning. 

“Anything to get my way, Master Jedi. You know me.”

“I certainly do.”

Obi-Wan’s face, even half-obscured, is like a foreigner somehow; In the afternoon sunlight that casts long violet shadows he’s glowing, _smiling_ , delight in his blue eyes, a smile on his lips that the Senator leans in to kiss. They’re so close. Embracing, lingering – And kissing each other. 

Obi-Wan’s expression when they part is soft. Familiar. Anakin knows that expression, it strikes him like a stray blaster bolt on a fuel canister, understanding blossoming in plumes of flame. 

It’s the same expression he wears when he’s alone with Padmé. 

Helpless, disbelieving, Anakin watches Obi-Wan cup the Senator’s face in his hands and give him a look that aches with finality, watches them as they touch their foreheads together and whisper words he can’t hear but knows by heart already, warm secret words to keep hold of when the world spins apart around them.

They love each other. 

And then they let each other go. 

Obi-Wan straightens his tunic, and Anakin blushes as he realises Organa must have had a hand beneath it, unable to fight the need for skin contact, and somehow it’s so strange to picture anyone – much less the Senator from Alderaan – curling a warm hand around Obi-Wan’s hip.

They leave, in step with each other, once more Senator and Jedi down the opposite end of the pillar hall, and Anakin is alone.

Half sick, he shuts his eyes and tries to make sense of it.

Something happened on that Sith planet. Something drew these two men inexplicably together, and it made fertile ground for these loving touches to bloom like bruises on skin, marking them, binding them to each other. He never knew, until now. Obi-Wan never said.

And then the knot in Anakin’s chest undoes itself as he thinks of Obi-Wan’s smile, that breathy laughter that of all people in the galaxy Bail Organa can coax out of him. He looked happy. Looked _whole_. Looked nothing at all like the half-broken man who clung white-knuckled to Anakin’s hand in the fresher during the middle of the night, sobs echoing off the tile walls. 

...He thinks, maybe, he might trust Senator Organa after all.


End file.
